#AmericanWriters #XIXCentury #1855 #LeavesOfGrass
All you are doing and saying is to… You have not learn’d of Nature—of… learn’d the great amplitude, recti… You have not seen that only such a… And that what is less than they mu…
With music strong I come, with my… I play not marches for accepted vi… Have you heard that it was good to… I also say it is good to fall, bat… I beat and pound for the dead,
I have heard what the talkers were… beginning and the end But I do not talk of the beginnin… There was never any more inception… Nor any more youth or age than the…
Come said the Muse, Sing me a song no poet yet has cha… Sing me the universal. In this broad earth of ours, Amid the measureless grossness and…
The two old, simple problems ever… Close home, elusive, present, baff… By each successive age insoluble,… To ours to-day—and we pass on the…
As one by one withdraw the lofty a… From that great play on history’s… That lurid, partial act of war and… Fought out through wrath, fears, d… All past—and since, in countless g…
Forms, qualities, lives, humanity,… The ones known, and the ones unkno… The stars themselves, some shaped,… Wonders as of those countries, the… whatever they may be,
With antecedents, With my fathers and mothers and th… With all which, had it not been,… With Egypt, India, Phenicia, Gre… With the Kelt, the Scandinavian,…
Of Equality—as if it harm’d me, g… rights as myself—as if it were not… that others possess the same.
Youth, large, lusty, loving—youth… Do you know that Old Age may come… fascination? Day full-blown and splendid-day of… laughter,
As I watch’d the ploughman plough… Or the sower sowing in the fields,… I saw there too, O life and death… (Life, life is the tillage, and D…
As toilsome I wander’d Virginia’s… To the music of rustling leaves ki… I mark’d at the foot of a tree the… Mortally wounded he and buried on… understand,)
Come, said my Soul Such verses for my Body let us wr… That should I after death invisib… Or, long, long hence, in other sph… There to some group of mates the c…
WHAT weeping face is that lookin… Why does it stream those sorrowful… Is it for some burial place, vast… Is it to wet the soil of graves?
The little one sleeps in its cradl… I lift the gauze and look a long t… The youngster and the red-faced gi… I peeringly view them from the top… The suicide sprawls on the bloody…
